


A Dream or a Song

by lovetheblazer



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blangst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sleepwalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sleepwalk a lot and sometimes you knock on my door so I have to lead you back to your apartment. Kurt/Blaine Alternative Meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream or a Song

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Nightmares, a brief mention of Kurt's mom dying, and a few references to Blaine being attacked at Sadie Hawkins. Otherwise just a lot of shameless fluff.
> 
>  
> 
> _"A dream or a song that hits you so hard, filling you up, and suddenly gone."_

“Go away,” Kurt groans, burying his face in his pillow. When the persistent knocking doesn't stop, he finally lifts his head and blinks blearily as he struggles to read the display on his digital alarm clock.  _3:14 AM_. What the hell? Who would be bothering him at such an hour?  
****

“I swear to god, if Sam or Artie got drunk and locked themselves out of their apartment again, I'm going to kill them for interrupting my beauty sleep,” he grumbles as he throws off the duvet and staggers to his feet.

“I'm coming, I'm coming. Jesus, hold your horses,” he hisses grumpily as he stumbles through the darkened living room, narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe on the edge of the couch.

Even in his half-awake state, Kurt has enough sense to know he should look through the peephole  before he unlocks the deadbolt. He isn't in Lima anymore, after all. Living in Brooklyn hadn't come cheap and as a result, his apartment complex isn't exactly in the best neighborhood. He eyes the aluminum baseball bat that his dad had given him when he'd helped him move to New York, still sitting in an umbrella stand next to the front door. It had seemed like a ridiculous gesture at the time, but Kurt has to admit knowing that it's there now makes him feel a little safer.

Kurt blinks in the dim light, straining as he peers through the tiny peephole in his apartment door. When his eyes finally adjust, he finds himself staring at his absolutely gorgeous neighbor. The same neighbor that he  _might_  have developed a tiny crush on, if he's totally honest. Okay fine, maybe  _tiny_  was underselling it a bit, judging by how frequently Kurt found himself lingering in the mail room or communal laundry area, hoping for a glimpse of 'Sexy Mr. Rogers' (as Rachel was so fond of calling him). It seemed a fairly apt description since the cute neighbor in question was almost always dressed in colorful cardigans and bowties, often paired with suspenders and cuffed jeans or cropped pants. He's a lot less dressed now though, standing on Kurt's doorstep in only a sleeveless white undershirt and red and white striped cotton boxers. His hair is free from its over-gelled prison, curling in soft ringlets over his forehead. Kurt's mouth goes dry at just how good he looks as he struggles to undo the deadbolt lock with clumsy fingers.

Kurt swings the door open, trying to subtly smooth down his hair because he can only imagine how terrible he must look with his bedhead, ratty sweatpants, and rumpled henley. It's not exactly how he'd planned on looking when he  _officially_  met the guy he's spent months crushing on. There's a long moment of silence while Kurt stares at his neighbor, waiting for him to explain his appearance on his doorstep at 3 AM. But he just stares back, more through Kurt than at him, and says nothing. “Hi, did you need something?” Kurt finally prompts, feeling awkward and exposed.

“Peanut butter,” the guy mumbles.

“Peanut butter?” Kurt frowns, thoroughly confused. “You want to borrow some peanut butter?”

His neighbor rubs his eyes and fidgets but doesn't respond.

“Um, okay?” Kurt is bewildered. He wonders idly if his neighbor is drunk or on drugs, since he doesn't really seem all there at the moment. “What, did you get an emergency craving for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that just couldn't wait until the bodega on the corner opened at 6?” he tries to joke, wanting to ease the tension.

His neighbor furrows his brow, looking concerned. “Oh no, we're going to be late.”

“Late for what?” Kurt asks. He slowly counts to ten in his head, waiting for an answer, but again, none is forthcoming. “And who's we? Do you mean you and that girl? Your roommate?” he guesses.

The first time he'd seen his neighbor walking down the hallway arm in arm with an absolutely stunning blonde, he'd retreated to his bedroom for an hour to polish off an entire pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Kurt usually had pretty good gaydar, and his gay sensors had been pinging big time for Sexy Mr. Rogers, between his eclectic but preppy wardrobe and the way Kurt would sometimes hear him singing show tunes while he did laundry or grabbed his mail. After drowning his sorrows in sugar, Kurt managed to convince himself that the gorgeous girl was probably just a friend or roommate, much like Rachel had been for Kurt until recently. Still, anytime he'd seen the girl around the apartment complex, Kurt found himself glaring at her in irrational jealousy. Even now with his cute neighbor standing half naked on his doorstep, Kurt feels his stomach flip nervously at the mere thought that the girl in question might be more than just a friend.

The neighbor bypasses Kurt's questions once more, instead telling him, “We have to hurry.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and Kurt finds himself wishing he could be the one biting and sucking that lip instead.  _Man, it's been way too long since I got laid_ , he thinks. Kurt shakes his head, trying to clear the lustful thoughts so he can focus on working out why his neighbor is standing on his doorstep at 3 AM and not making a lick of sense.

His neighbor leans his head against the door frame as if he plans to sleep there and finally, everything clicks into place. To test his hypothesis, Kurt takes a tentative step forward and waves his hand in front of the guy's eyes. He doesn't do so much as flinch, not registering Kurt's presence in any way. It seems pretty obvious now that he's sleepwalking.

Kurt takes a moment to mull over his options. He could try to wake his neighbor up, though he vaguely remembers reading something about how you aren't supposed to ever wake up a sleepwalker. He assumes it's just an urban legend, but he'd never forgive himself if he inadvertently gave one of the cutest guys he's met in New York a heart attack by shocking him awake. That leaves either trying to take his neighbor back down the hall to his own apartment to put him back to bed or leading him inside Kurt's apartment and what - letting his neighbor share his bed for the night?

Both options have their merits but also potential downsides. What if the neighbor's roommate is home and thinks Kurt's trying to break into her apartment and rob her? But if Kurt brings his neighbor into his bed, that could just as easily be misconstrued. Chances are his crush will have very little memory of these events in the morning and that could lead to some  _very_  awkward questions. Questions that Kurt really doesn't feel prepared to answer, especially when he doesn't even know his neighbor's name.

Ultimately, Kurt decides bringing his crush back to his own apartment is probably the right thing to do. “Hey, time to get you back in bed,” he gently urges. His neighbor huffs out a breath and turns toward the sound of his voice. It's not much, but it's a start.

“Need the peanut butter,” the guy slurs insistently.

“Okay, let's go find you some,” Kurt agrees. After a second's pause, he reaches for his neighbor's hand, relieved when the guy threads his fingers through his without hesitation. “Right. C'mon, this way,” Kurt murmurs. He's just grateful that the dim light in the hallway hides his blush.

His neighbor follows him obediently, much like a small child or lost puppy, as they slowly walk past four apartment entrances until they reach a door that's ajar. Kurt fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and opens the flashlight app on it. He holds tight to the guy with one hand and uses the phone to light their way as he steps into the dark apartment with his neighbor trailing beside him.

His apartment layout is much the same as Kurt's but their apartment décor couldn't be any different. Kurt's apartment has a more minimalist design while this apartment is crowded with expensive looking furnishings and rugs. Kurt nearly trips over an ottoman, managing to steer his neighbor around it just in time to avoid a collision. He eyes the small hallway at the far end of the living room that he knows leads to the bedrooms and bathroom.

Kurt stares at the two bedroom doors, noticing that the second one is slightly open. He assumes that it's probably the one that belongs to his neighbor, since he also left the apartment door wide open when he went sleepwalking. Kurt hopes he's right, because otherwise things are about to get  _really_  awkward. As if tonight hasn't already been filled with enough awkward (albeit exhilarating) situations.

With a deep breath, he pushes open the door and steps over the threshold with his neighbor hot on his heels. Even in the dim light, he can tell that the bed is empty, though the blankets are rumpled and the pillows are askew.  _Clearly I chose the right room,_  he realizes with relief.

“Come on, bedtime,” he whispers to his neighbor. He walks over to the bed and slides his phone back into his pocket so he can flip on the bedside lamp instead. He pulls back the sheets and navy plaid comforter and straightens the pillows. Then, Kurt tugs gently on his neighbor's hand in an attempt to get him to sit down on the bed, frowning when he stubbornly refuses to sit.

“I have work to do,” the guy says loudly. “Can't be late.”

“Shh,” Kurt hushes, looking nervously to the paper thin walls that he knows separate his neighbor's bedroom from his roommate's. At a loss for how to proceed, he takes a quick glance around the room, searching for any clues about his neighbor that he can use to coax him into cooperating. He sees a stack of bills and letters on the nightstand, all addressed to Blaine Anderson.  _Sexy Mr. Rogers has a real name, at long last_ , Kurt thinks with a wry grin.

“Blaine,” Kurt calls, standing in front of his neighbor. “Hey, you can do your work a little later. First come sit down with me for a second, okay?”

Blaine nods and complies almost immediately, letting himself be led to the bed and sitting down next to Kurt.

“Good job,” Kurt murmurs, cheeks heating up at how close they are, thighs and knees pressed together. Oh god, he's sitting on his hot neighbor's bed with him. Kurt feels like  _he's_  the one dreaming, though if it is a dream, it's not one he wants to wake up from anytime soon.

“Aren't you sleepy?” Kurt asks him. “You look sleepy.”

Blaine mumbles something indistinct.

“You should –  _um_  – you should lay down now,” Kurt stammers. When Blaine makes no move to follow his command, he realizes that a more direct approach is probably in order. Kurt starts to let go of Blaine's hand, but Blaine makes a soft noise of displeasure and just grips Kurt's hand even tighter.

Instead, Kurt takes his free hand and gently presses on Blaine's shoulder, trying to get him to lay down. It takes a few attempts, but eventually Blaine gets the idea, rolling onto his side and curling up in bed. Kurt could practically cheer in triumph, except that Blaine is still holding fast to his other hand. At this rate, Kurt's not sure how he'll ever break free.

Kurt looks down at Blaine, noticing for the first time that he's wearing one slipper and one flip-flop on his feet. He chuckles softly as he reaches over to take them off and tosses them in the direction of the closet. Finally, he grabs for the sheets and blanket and pulls them over Blaine, tucking him in as best he can one-handed.  

“Mmm 'night, baby,” Blaine whispers as his eyes flutter closed.

“Oh – goodnight?” Kurt manages in a breathy voice, because  _wow_ , he's going to have crush material for weeks, if not months, after tonight. He sits on the edge of Blaine's bed for a minute or two, content to watch the even rise and fall of his chest. When he's pretty sure that Blaine's more soundly asleep, he tries to pull his hand free again, no longer expecting any resistance.

“No, don't leave,” Blaine grumbles, lifting their intertwined hands until they rest over the center of his chest, pouting adorably the whole time.

“I...” Kurt trails off, mouth dry. He's stuck between wanting to kiss away that pout and desperately needing to get back to his own bed before things get any more awkward and confusing than they already are for him. The weird blend of intimacy and anonymity is enough to make Kurt's head spin.

“Okay, I'll stay,” Kurt lies eventually. “Just sleep now.”

Blaine sighs and blinks up at him. Kurt shivers because it feels like the first time he's actually been  _seen_  all night. He's about to start apologizing or trying to explain his presence in Blaine's bedroom in the middle of the night (though he hasn't the faintest idea how) when Blaine whispers something quietly. He has to lean down closer to make it out.

“You're pretty,” Blaine murmurs.

Kurt's too speechless to reply, so they just stare at one another for the longest, most charged moment of his adult life. He comes up with a hundred things to say, but they all stick in his throat. After a minute or two, Blaine sighs again. “Sleepy,” he says.

“Then close your eyes,” Kurt manages.

“You'll leave if I do,” Blaine mumbles.

Something about Blaine's wording brings Kurt back to being a child. He'd had horrible nightmares right around the time his mother was first diagnosed with cancer. They'd only worsened as she'd gotten more frail and sick, and Kurt was determined not to close his eyes in case she left in the night, this time for good. He hadn't understood back then that she wasn't really leaving him and certainly not of her own volition. All he'd known is that she'd set out for the doctor's office or hospital early in the morning before he woke up, sometimes not returning for days or weeks at a time. And Kurt thought if he could just  _stay awake_ , he could stop her from leaving again.

Back then, the only thing that would coax him into sleeping was his mom or dad sitting on the side of his bed and stroking his hair. His dad would read the paper, while his mother usually told him stories or sang him lullabies if she was feeling up to it. It was that soothing sensation that lulled him to sleep each night and he'd been convinced that it was the only thing that could keep the nightmares at bay. His mom always called it “putting the good dreams in his head.”

Without overthinking it, Kurt reaches out and starts carding his fingers through Blaine's hair, just like his mother used to do for him. “Close your eyes,” he directs softly. Blaine's eyes flutter closed at the sensation of Kurt's hand in his hair. Kurt marvels at how soft the strands are, wondering why his neighbor would ever cover up these curls with a bucketload of gel. It seems like a crime against nature, or at least good sense.

Kurt sits that way for at least ten minutes, just stroking the hair of a stranger he might be a little in love with, no longer sure which way is up. When he attempts to remove his hand from Blaine's determined grasp for a third time, he puts up no protest. Kurt tries not to feel disappointed by that, though deep down he is. He quietly stands, holding his breath while he waits to see if Blaine will stir. After counting to twenty and confirming that Blaine is unlikely to go on another sleepwalking jaunt, at least not in the immediate future, he pads on tiptoes to the door of the bedroom. With one final glance at his obliviously sleeping neighbor, he's out the door, down the hall, and back to his quiet apartment. He crawls into his own cold bed, heart still thudding with adrenaline. Kurt settles in and closes his eyes, but sleep is elusive for him.

* * *

The next morning, Kurt feels like he's been run over by a truck thanks to how little sleep he's gotten. Still, he forces himself through his typical routine, determined to look his best for whatever the day ahead holds. He takes extra care with styling his hair and tries on at least five different outfits before settling on his most flattering skinny jeans and a purple v-necked sweater. By the time 7:30 AM rolls around, he's rushing out the door, hoping he might bump into Blaine like he often does in the mornings.

He hadn't intended to run into him  _literally_ however, but that's exactly what happens. He's so focused on his phone and the email Isabelle sent him that he walks directly into Blaine, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Kurt apologizes with flaming cheeks.

“That's okay,” Blaine smiles at him. “I probably had it coming.”

“Nah, I'm just clumsy,” Kurt says. “And still kinda half-asleep after last night.”

“Oh yeah?” Blaine asks. “Noisy neighbors keeping you up?”

“Something like that.” Kurt's now thoroughly confused, wondering if Blaine's just trying to play off last night or if he really has no memory of what happened.

“Inconsiderate neighbors are the worst, aren't they?” he groans sympathetically. “Well, I hope you manage to get more sleep tonight.” Blaine gives him one last grin before he's heading down the hall towards the elevator with a wave. Kurt isn't sure if he should speed up to catch him so they can ride the elevator down together or take his time and wait for the next elevator, even though he'll probably be a few minutes late to work if he does that.

Ultimately, it's his curiosity that gets the better of him. Okay, that and knowing how grumpy Isabelle gets if he's not ready with her coffee by the time she arrives at the Vogue offices. But mostly, it's the thing where he wants, or  _needs_ , really, to know if Blaine is as completely in the dark about their extracurricular activities last night as he seems.

“Hold the elevator?” he calls out as he attempts to catch up with Blaine. It's not that hard given that Kurt has at least four inches on him and much longer legs. He makes it to the elevator just as the doors open and Blaine steps inside.

Blaine keeps his hand against the open door to keep it from closing before Kurt can make inside. “Thanks,” he says gratefully.

“No problem,” Blaine replies. Kurt watches him straighten his bowtie in the mirrored reflection of the elevator wall and subtly smooth down his hair. Kurt's not  _positive_  that the preening is for his benefit, but he certainly hopes it is.

It's not much, but it's just enough to make Kurt feel brave enough to speak up. “So... did you ever get that peanut butter and jelly sandwich you were after?” he asks nervously, with just the faintest hint of teasing lilt to his voice.

“Uh, no? I had eggs for breakfast,” Blaine furrows his brow.

Kurt blushes in embarrassment at the realization that Blaine truly has no recollection of last night. He must sound absolutely insane to Blaine. He finds himself suddenly wishing that the floor could open up and swallow him whole. Thankfully, the elevator dings as if on cue, providing a clear path to escape.

Kurt races out the second the elevators doors open, practically sprinting away from Blaine and the awkward encounter he wishes he could permanently erase from his brain.

“Have a nice day?” Blaine calls after him, a bewildered expression on his face.

Kurt doesn't slow down until he's several blocks away from his apartment. He sinks onto a park bench, legs quivering with exhaustion and heart pounding with adrenaline. He struggles to slow his breathing, dropping his head to his hands as he curses his stupid mouth. After this most recent humiliation, Kurt knows he won't be able to face Blaine again for weeks, if not months, and he finds himself already missing Blaine, silly though that may be.

* * *

Kurt spends the next week dodging Blaine. After months of seeking him out, it's crazy how difficult it becomes to avoid him now that Kurt doesn't  _want_  to see him. He has to leave for work an extra fifteen minutes early to ensure that he doesn't accidentally run into Blaine in the hallway or wind up sharing the elevator with him. He waits until 10 PM to check his mail, poking his head out into the hallway first to make sure the coast is clear like some sort of covert spy. He even forgoes his typical Wednesday night routine of doing a load or two of laundry. However, judging by his quickly dwindling collection of boxers, he won't be able to avoid the communal laundry room indefinitely.

On Friday night, he's half dozing on the couch in pair of cozy yoga pants and his favorite sweatshirt when there's a knock on the door. He mutes the TV and glances at the time on his phone. It's nearing midnight and he has no idea who would be coming over unannounced at this time of night. In fact, there's only one person who Kurt can imagine it being: a sleepwalking Blaine.

He briefly considers what would happen if he just ignored the knocking, but his fear is that Blaine would either knock all night or he'd continue on to the nearby stairwell and fall and hurt himself. Kurt knows he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something bad happened to Blaine as a result of his negligence. Plus, there's a part of him that wants to see Blaine again. A rather large part of him, if Kurt is 100% honest.

With a deep breath, Kurt stands on wobbly legs and heads for the door. He unlocks the door and slowly opens it, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees Blaine standing on his doorstep. This time he's wearing navy cotton pajama pants and a matching button down pajama shirt. As Kurt looks a little closer, he realizes that his pajamas are printed with colorful bowties. He chuckles fondly to himself.

“Hi,” he greets Blaine.

“They're coming,” Blaine says in a worried voice.

“Who's coming?” Kurt asks, curious even though he knows that Blaine is sleepwalking and unlikely to make much sense.

“The guys, the football players,” Blaine turns to look over his shoulder, like he can see some malevolent force lurking behind him. “We need to hide.  _Please_ ,” he practically begs.

“Hey, it's okay,” Kurt promises him, squeezing his shoulder gently. Blaine is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, looking absolutely petrified. Kurt wonders again about trying to wake him up, since it seems clear that whatever he's experiencing tonight is less of a dream and more of a nightmare.

Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand, remembering how that seemed to soothe him last time. “Come with me, okay?” he says and starts to lead Blaine back in the direction of his own apartment.

“No, we can't. They'll see us,” Blaine panics, trying to hide behind Kurt.

“No one's going to hurt you, Blaine. I won't let them, I swear,” Kurt vows, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Blaine reluctantly follows Kurt down the hallway, though his eyes keep darting back and forth wildly, looking for something or someone that Kurt can't see.

The door to Blaine's apartment is closed this time and when Kurt goes to turn the knob, he finds it locked. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath. Now what is he supposed to do?

“Please, let's go. We need to go now,” Blaine frets.

“Blaine, do you have your keys?” Kurt asks, though he knows it's a long shot. He looks down at him, confirming that Blaine doesn't have any pockets in his pajamas and that both his hands are empty. Blaine doesn't answer.

After a second's deliberation, he decides his best option is knocking on Blaine's apartment door and hoping that his roommate is home. He begins to knock on the door, softly at first.

Blaine jolts like someone's hit him at the noise. “No no, Jared, what are you doing? You have to be quiet,” he hisses.

“I'm not Jared. I'm Kurt, okay?” he sighs. He notices for the first time how badly Blaine is shaking and takes a deep breath, drawing on his reserves of patience. “Hey, you're safe here. We're safe, Blaine,” he adds in a more gentle tone.

Blaine nods and clings to his arm, still scanning the hallway for ghosts Kurt can't see. Kurt knocks a few more times, a little louder each time. Blaine flinches each time he does, but he's otherwise silent. After a few minutes of waiting, Kurt gives up. Either Blaine's roommate sleeps with some  _really_  good earplugs in or she's not home. Either way, putting Blaine back in his own bed is not an option. That only leaves one other avenue: bringing him back to Kurt's apartment for the night. The thought thrills and scares Kurt in equal measure.

“Alright, time to go now,” Kurt tells Blaine. “It's bedtime.”

“We need to leave,” Blaine murmurs.

“Yes, that's right. We're leaving now. Just come with me, okay?”

“Thank you, thank you,” Blaine babbles gratefully.

“You're welcome,” Kurt whispers as he guides Blaine back down the hall, arm starting to ache from how tightly Blaine is gripping it. “There you go, good job,” Kurt congratulates him as they step over the threshold and into his apartment. He awkwardly closes and relocks his door one-handed, leaving him facing Blaine in his silent apartment. With the faint glow of the lamp in living room, Kurt can see Blaine well for the first time all night. His breath hitches in his chest as he finally notices the tears on Blaine's cheeks.

“Shit,” he swears. “I mean... are you okay?” he asks helplessly. He doesn't know what else to do.

“Please,” is all Blaine says.

Kurt stares at him, dumbstruck for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the strange kinship he feels with this person he barely knows. He wants to help, he just has no idea  _how_. All he knows is that Blaine's upset and asking him for something and he hopes he can provide it, whatever that may be. Finally, he just nods and squeezes Blaine's hand. “It'll be okay, I promise. Come with me.”

Blaine trails him into his bedroom, looking lost and fearful. Kurt eases them down onto the bed, sitting beside him. “Time to sleep. Just like last time,” he urges, though it's not, really. Last time Blaine wasn't in  _his_ bed, and he was mumbling about peanut butter, not crying.

He gently presses Blaine down until his head is resting on the pillow. Kurt reaches for his duvet to cover Blaine up, but he shakes the blanket off almost immediately and tries to sit up. “What's wrong?” Kurt asks, frowning a little.

“I need...” Blaine starts to stay, then trails off.

“What do you need?”

It's quiet for so long that Kurt's nearly given up on an answer when Blaine sighs and looks up at him. “You,” he whispers.

“Me?” Kurt manages, more than a little confused. “What do you need me to do?”

Blaine pats the bed beside him. “Stay,” he commands.

Kurt freezes. He'd been planning to sleep on the couch and let Blaine have his bed, but now he's not sure what to do. Blaine's looking up at him through impossibly wide, watery eyes, with worry and desperation practically oozing out of every pore. 

It's been a long time since Kurt felt that afraid. He'd said goodbye to Lima, Ohio nearly four years ago. And with it, he'd also said goodbye to that poor, scared kid who was shoved into lockers, tossed into dumpsters, or doused with slushies on a daily basis. He'd come to New York and felt for the first time in his life like he was somewhere where he actually  _belonged_. However, he still remembers that terror and fear like it was yesterday. He doubts that it will ever really leave him. And it's the memory of that fear that ultimately leads him to do what Blaine's asking. He'll stay, if only for a short while. He wants Blaine to feel secure in his safety.

“Uh, sure,” he acquiesces. He crawls around Blaine and settles himself in bed, head resting on the opposite pillow. “I'll stay. Just sleep now, okay? Everything's going to be fine.”

Blaine's body relaxes a little. He rolls onto his side facing Kurt. Kurt flips off the bedside lamp, hoping the darkness might encourage Blaine to sleep. Instead, Blaine flails wildly, practically launching himself at Kurt's chest, throwing an arm around his waist and holding on for dear life.

“Hey, shh, it's okay,” Kurt reassures him. “Do you want to me to turn the light back on?”

“Don't let them take me.  _Please_ , don't let them hurt me,” Blaine sobs out.

“No one's going to hurt you, honey,” Kurt promises. Blaine clings even more tightly and Kurt can feel his tears starting to dampen his sweatshirt. He rubs Blaine's back, trying to find the right words of comfort. “You're safe here. I've got you.”

“Okay,” Blaine sniffles.

“Okay,” Kurt echoes. His hand skates up from Blaine's back until he's running his fingers through his hair again. “Now close your eyes and try to sleep,” he encourages.

Blaine exhales slowly and snuggles into Kurt's chest a bit more as his body starts to go lax. “Don't leave,” he requests.

“I won't,” Kurt swears. He's not even lying this time. After all, it's his bedroom so where else would he go? He reaches out blindly and manages to snag a corner of the duvet so that he can pull it over both of their bodies. “There you go,” he murmurs as he tucks it around the two of them. “Safe and sound.”

Blaine doesn't reply because he's already asleep.

* * *

“Kitty, close the blinds, it's early,” Blaine grumbles sleepily.

Kurt startles awake, nearly throwing a half-asleep Blaine off his chest.  _Shit._ He'd meant to move to the couch once Blaine had fallen asleep, but clearly he dozed off before that happened. He panics, trying to figure out how to explain. “Um,” Kurt squeaks. It's as far as he gets.

Blaine turns his head to look up at Kurt curiously. “You aren't Kitty,” he says with remarkable calmness.

“No?” Kurt shrugs helplessly, not knowing what else to do.

Kurt can feel Blaine peering at him more closely now. “Holy shit, it's you,” Blaine gapes at him, slightly dumbstruck.

“Me?”

“Yeah,  _you_ ,” Blaine repeats, as if that will somehow clarify things. “You're Kurt, right?”

“Yes,” Kurt answers automatically. Then he stops and frowns, “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“Uh,” now it's Blaine's turn to look sheepish. “I might have peeked at your mail once, when we were in the mail room together. “Sorry, I'm nosy that way.” He looks down at himself and realizes he still has both arms wrapped around Kurt's waist, pinning him close. “Oh fuck, sorry,” he apologizes and tries to scoot away like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“No, no, don't be. It's fine. And nothing happened, in case you were worried. You were just...”

“Sleepwalking,” Blaine fills in before Kurt can finish the sentence. “I know.”

“You do? But before when I tried to talk to you in the elevator, you didn't seem to recognize me?” Kurt prods, more than a little confused.

“Oh, I recognized you. Trust me, I recognized you long before I decided to make a fool out of myself by sleepwalking to your apartment,” Blaine chuckles, blushing adorably. “That was the first time, right?”

“Yes.”

“And other than that...?”

“It’s only happened two times, counting last night. That's all, at least so far.” Kurt's smiling now. “I felt like such an idiot that day in the elevator though,” he admits. “If you remembered and recognized me, why didn't you just say so?”

“I was embarrassed, really, really embarrassed about what I said and did. I couldn't remember much, I just had a vague recollection of being in the hall and your face. I wasn't even sure if it was real or maybe just a particularly vivid dream. But then you ran into me and started talking about how you got no sleep because of a neighbor keeping you up, and I put two and two together and realized that I  _was_  that asshole neighbor,” Blaine groans, covering his face.

“You weren't an asshole,” Kurt reassures him. “You were just very... insistent.”

“On?” Blaine peeks out from behind his fingers, still cringing.

“Needing peanut butter at 3 AM and...” Kurt trails off, not sure if he should tell Blaine the whole truth.

“And?” Blaine prompts.

“Me not leaving you. That's been true both times, actually,” he explains.

Blaine pulls the duvet over his head. “I'm just going to die of mortification under here, okay?” he murmurs, his voice muffled by the thick cotton.

“No, no, don't be embarrassed,” Kurt giggles. He waits a few seconds and then tries to tug the blanket off so he can see Blaine. “Seriously, I won't bite,” he promises.

Blaine slowly lowers the duvet, exposing two bright spots of color, one on each cheek. “I guess the only good thing about humiliating myself this much is that it means I have nothing left to lose. So, in that spirit, cards on the table, I wasn't lying when I said I'd noticed you long before the sleepwalking.”

“Me? You noticed me?” Kurt asks. “Why?”

“You're kidding, right?” Blaine says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, look at you,” he continues, gesturing at Kurt's reclining form. “You're gorgeous.”

“Oh,” Kurt breathes. He hadn't imagined a scenario in which Blaine was also nursing a crush. “I noticed you too.”

“You don't have to say that if it's not true, if it's just because you feel sorry for me or whatever,” Blaine mumbles, staring at his hands.

“Hey,” Kurt chastises gently, grabbing Blaine's hand to get his attention, “I'm not lying, I swear. You are pretty damn cute yourself, okay? Especially when you forgo the gel,” he adds, tweaking a curl between his fingers.

Blaine leans into the touch appreciatively. “This might be the first time in my life I'm actually grateful that I sleepwalk,” he confesses.

“I mean... it did get you into bed with me,” Kurt teases, mostly kidding.

“Exactly my point,” Blaine tilts his head up and presses a quick kiss to Kurt's cheek. “Lucky me.”

Kurt's breath hitches in his chest. Of all the places he'd imagined the morning going, this wasn't one of them. It's a surprise but a  _very_  welcome one.

“Sorry, we're kind of doing this out of order, aren't we?” Blaine comments, sensing Kurt's hesitance. “Usually we'd do the introductions and exchange numbers, then I'd ask you out on a date, and maybe a few weeks later, I'd get a sleepover.”

“Weeks?” Kurt huffs in mock exasperation. “I'm not some floozy.”

“Touché,” Blaine laughs. “Although as you've already seen, I can be pretty persistent when necessary.”

“No kidding,” Kurt snorts. He thinks back to last night and the weird half conversation they'd had then. “Hey, can I ask you a potentially personal question? Since we're doing things out of order anyways...”

“Of course,” Blaine grins.

“Who's Jared?” he asks tentatively. Blaine's face falls immediately. “It's okay if you don't want to tell me,” Kurt adds. “I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

“So, last night was one of  _those_  nights,” Blaine says with a heavy sigh. “Shit, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's okay. I didn't mind. You just seemed really upset and I wasn't following everything you were saying, but it sounded...” Kurt trails off, trying to the right word. “Familiar,” he settles on, “it sounded familiar.”

“Yeah?” Blaine tilts his head to the side, considering Kurt for a moment. He seems satisfied with what he discovers there, maybe sensing the same kinship Kurt felt from their first meeting. “Well, long story short, me being gay didn't go over so well at my first public high school. Jared was a friend I took with me to the Sadie Hawkins dance, and some jocks saw fit to show us that we weren't really welcome there.”

“I'm sorry,” Kurt murmurs, running his hand up and down Blaine's arm.

“It's okay,” Blaine replies and threads their fingers together. “It was a long time ago. I can go months without thinking about it, but every so often, my subconscious decides to remind me. And then I show up on your doorstep and make a total fool out of myself.”

“I'm glad you did,” Kurt confesses. “I'm not glad that it happened or that you still dream about it, but I'm glad you picked my doorstep.”

“Me too,” Blaine agrees, a slow smile transforming his face once more. “Sorry, that's not exactly a typical first date conversation topic for me. It's a little heavier than I'd usually get with a guy I was trying to impress, especially before we've even had our morning coffee.”

“Coffee,” Kurt moans. “I want coffee. I  _need_  coffee.” He pauses for a moment, mentally deliberating. “There's a great little brunch place around the corner, if you wanted to go?” he offers. “I mean, if you don't have other plans already, that is.”

“I'd like that,” Blaine starts to reply, then freezes, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” Kurt inquires.

“It's Saturday, isn't it?” Blaine frets. “Shit, shit, shit, they're going to kill me. What time is it?”

“Uh,” Kurt leans over to peer at his alarm clock, “9:14 AM.”

“Oh, I might still make it then, if I hurry,” Blaine scrambles to sit up. “I'm sorry, I have this thing.”

Kurt shoots him a slightly disbelieving look.

“No, no, I swear,” Blaine laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “That wasn’t a smooth line or a fake excuse. I volunteer at the library every Saturday and there’s no one as back up if I don't show. Basically, if I'm not there in forty-five minutes to man story time, there will be fifty screaming preschoolers who'll start tearing the place apart. I really can't have that on my conscience.”

Kurt didn't think it was possible to be more charmed by Blaine than he already was, but the mental image of Sexy Mr. Rogers reading to a room full of rapt children is just too perfect for words. “So, you do work with children!” he crows triumphantly. “Totally called it.”

“Yeah,” Blaine answers, pulling a face. “Wait, how'd you know? Also, I need to go back to my apartment and throw on some clothes so I can haul ass to the library, but maybe...”

“Maybe?” Kurt echoes.

“Well, you could come with me, if you want? Story time is only thirty minutes long. And there are a lot of good diners and cafes nearby, we could get brunch afterwards,” Blaine proposes nervously.

Kurt beams. “I'd like that. Give me one second to throw on some jeans and we can head out.”

Blaine grins back at him, then steps into the living room to give Kurt a moment of privacy to change.

“That was fast,” Blaine greets him a minute or so later. “Okay, so, back to my earlier question,” he prompts while Kurt shuts his front door and locks it.

“I didn't  _know_  you worked with kids, but it was an educated guess. My roommate had a nickname for you, actually,” he giggles.

“Do I want to know?” Blaine asks. “And I didn't realize you had a roommate. Crap, hope I didn't wake him or her up last night.”

“Her and no, you didn't. Rachel moved out temporarily. She got cast in a big show and the production company offered to put her up in a place closer to the theater. She didn't want the hassle of trying to find a subletter for only a few months, so she's still paying rent on our place. She'll be back by the end of the summer though unless they decide to extend her run in Funny Girl.”

“Wait, your roommate is  _Rachel Berry_?” Blaine gasps. “Oh my god, I had no idea. I saw her show a few weeks ago. She was amazing,” he gushes.

“Yep, that's Rachel. Talented as hell and she knows it too,” he laughs fondly. “We went to high school together. That's how we met. We weren't the best of friends initially, but we both were determined to make it out of Ohio and to New York City so we bonded over that shared goal.”

“And you both made it happen,” Blaine congratulates warmly. “Okay, I just need to change quickly, assuming Kitty will answer the damn door,” he explains as he begins knocking loudly.

“Geez, alright already,” Kurt hears a female voice grumble in response, somewhere around the fifth knock. “Chill, I'm coming!”

A few seconds later the door swings open. The blonde that he assumes is Kitty looks from Blaine to Kurt and then back to Blaine again before she breaks into a wide grin. “Fucking finally! I thought you two were going to moon over each other for the next sixty years without actually  _doing_ anything about it.”

“Kitty,  _behave_ ,” Blaine says sharply, giving her a warning look. “I just need to go change and then we're leaving.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You've got to go entertain the wealthy children of Manhattan and Brooklyn's privileged elite, because god forbid the Lululemon sporting mothers be left to fend for themselves for even a few minutes without a nanny, a tutor, and a staff of at least five,” Kitty rolls her eyes.

Blaine shoots Kurt an apologetic look, looking wary about leaving him alone with Kitty.

“Oh, he'll be fine. He's a big boy. Bigger than you, anyway, not that that's hard.” Kitty snorts at her own joke. “I might still be a little drunk from last night,” she adds, by way of explanation.

“Shocker,” Blaine calls over his shoulder as he walks down the hall towards his bedroom.

“We can't all live like geriatrics, Grandpa. I'm young and hot and I intend to enjoy it while I can,” she huffs indignantly. “Whoops, I probably shouldn't have said that in front of you,” Kitty realizes, turning to Kurt. “He's not  _that_  boring. He's sweet, actually, but fairly incorruptible, judging by my attempts. Believe me, I've tried...”

Kurt laughs. “It sounds like there's a story there.”

“Oh, there are plenty of stories. They just happen to be the kind best told over martinis.”

“Rain check?” Kurt presses.

Kitty looks Kurt over, seeming to size him up. “Definitely,” she agrees at last with a resolute nod. “What's your name, by the way?”

“Kurt,” he replies, extending his hand to shake. “Hi.”

“Kurt, huh? So he has a name at last!” she cheers. “Up until now, we've just been calling you...”

“Don't you dare!” Blaine admonishes as he comes rushing down the hallway. “Kitty, I swear to god...”

“What? It's not bad, it's flattering. He'll be flattered. Calm down, crazy,” she shakes her head in fond exasperation.

“I want to know,” Kurt encourages with a wry grin.

“See,” Kitty gestures towards him. “Kurt knows what's up. Or should I say... GQ Man knows what’s up.”

Blaine groans and buries his face in his hands. “So embarrassing.”

“Wait, GQ Man? Why?” Kurt is totally confused.

“Because you look like you stepped off the front page of a fashion magazine, obviously,” Blaine says. “Seriously, they could switch out some generic male model's photo with yours on the cover of any magazine and no one would ever be the wiser.”

“That's not true,” Kurt blushes. “But thank you, I'm flattered. Kitty was right.”

“Ooh, I like him. He's a keeper,” Kitty lights up.

“God, aren't you supposed to be on my side?” Blaine pouts at her.

“I actually had a nickname for you too, so it only seems fair that I confess now. Keep in mind that my roommate came up with it, not me. I just... helped,” Kurt trails off.

“What was it?” Blaine's eyes are wide in anticipation.

“Uh, Sexy Mr. Rogers, mostly because of the bowties and suspenders and cardigans and all,” Kurt admits. “You looked like you worked with kids too, judging by your wardrobe alone.

“You think I’m sexy?” Blaine gawks. Kurt nods eagerly, wanting to bolster Blaine’s self-confidence. He’s always been charitable that way, at least where hot guys are concerned.

“Well, someone's got you pegged. Yep, you were right - he spends most of his days charming kindergarten munchkins and then still goes to volunteer at the library on the weekends with even  _more_  kids like Mother Freaking Teresa,” Kitty fills in helpfully.

“Actually, you were pretty close with my job too. I'm not in magazines or anything because hello,  _so_  not male model material. But I do work for one behind the scenes. Vogue, to be more precise,” Kurt tells Blaine.

“Oh, that's amazing,” Blaine manages. “I guess I'm a good guesser too?”

“Wow, you two are so adorable that it's actually  _disgusting_ ,” Kitty says. Kurt isn't sure if it's an insult or a compliment. “It just got all romcom up in here.”

Blaine is still staring at Kurt in awe, like he's seeing him for the first time all over again. If they were alone, Kurt would totally seize the moment to kiss him. Sadly, they aren’t so he doesn’t, even though he’s pretty sure that Kitty wouldn’t mind one bit.

“Blaine, aren't you going to be late?” Kitty nudges, finally shaking Blaine out of his stupor.

“Oh right,  _shit_. We better go,” he rushes, motioning for Kurt to follow him.

“Well, you two have fun. Blaine, I don't want to see you back here before midnight. Yes, I'm giving you a reverse curfew because you need to live it up for a change. And FYI, I'll totally sleep with my earplugs in tonight, in case you want to take advantage of that,” Kitty adds, winking at Kurt.

“Yeah, you're definitely still drunk. At least I hope you are,” Blaine groans. “Bye,” he waves.

“Love you too,” Kitty trills as Blaine shuts the door behind them.

“Sorry about her,” Blaine apologizes as they step into the hall. “She's embarrassing but mostly harmless. Her bark is way worse than her bite. She just enjoys seeing people squirm.”

“I noticed,” Kurt chuckles. “It's okay, I liked her.”

“I’m pretty sure she liked you too which is no small feat,” Blaine smiles, offering his arm to Kurt. They link arms and Kurt lets Blaine lead him to the elevator. He has no idea where the day ahead will take them, but as long as he's with Blaine, he has a feeling he'll enjoy the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'd like to share this fic, you can reblog it on Tumblr [here](http://lovetheblazer.tumblr.com/post/120244770890/a-dream-or-a-song).


End file.
